Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  His glower only made her laugh harder.

  “Come on, cowboy,” she teased, “come into the tack room and let me take a look.” She pulled out a giant plastic tub for him to sit on, then dragged the miniature first-aid kit from under a rack of saddles. The toolbox made a second seat for her, and she shoved up his pants to have a look.

  There was already a mark where hoof had connected with flesh, though it seemed it had been a glancing blow. Denim had rubbed the skin raw, and it looked like there would be quite a bruise.

  “He hasn’t kicked since he was a damned weanling,” Cole groused, looking more put-out at the thought that his valiant charge had struck at him than at the actual injury itself.

  “Well, we all have bad days.” Nat hid her smile in digging through the kit, pulling out hydrogen peroxide and cotton squares. She doused them with liquid, then dabbed it on the weeping skin.

  “Ow! Hey!”

  She froze. Then looked up at Cole slowly, from under her brows. “Are you, a big strong horseman, seriously whining about a little disinfectant?”

  He looked abashed. “Well…it stings.”

  She snorted and shook her head, dabbing at the minor injury. “You’re lucky he didn’t hit you dead on the bone. Could have broken something.”

  “He didn’t kick that hard,” Cole muttered unhappily.

  Rather than responding, she squirted Neosporin on a wide swath of bandage and pressed it carefully to his calf, letting the cream keep it in place while she found a roll of vetwrap. It was for the horses, but it wouldn’t tear off skin or leg hair when he peeled it free later, and it would remain in place rather than being teased at by his jeans. With a quick motion she wrapped it around his calf and the bandage, checking it for tightness the same way she would with a horse.

  “Snugger than that, or it won’t stay when I walk.”

  She nodded once and tightened it before wrapping it once more, higher above the bulge of his muscle, and then pressing it to itself to stick.

  Cole eyed her bandage job, then eyed her. “Is all you have bright pink?”

  She grinned broadly. “Nope. But that’s what people who complain about peroxide get. Be glad it’s covered by your jeans.” Finished, she tugged his pant leg down to cover the injury.

  “Terribly grateful.” His tone was dry.

  She grinned at him, mood lightening. “How would you feel about going riding?”

  He seemed to give it some thought, shifting on the plastic tub. “Given the way this day has gone, it would either be a pleasant break, or we’ll get attacked by mountain lions and eaten. So either way, it could be an improvement.” Eyes a deep brown in the gloom of the tack room met hers, and there was a twinkle in them that belied his words.

  Nat chuckled and pushed up to her feet, tipping her head for him to follow as she headed out the door. “Well, mountain lions don’t generally attack people, so you’re safe. Your horse is out in the big pasture. He neck reins, so your single-handedness shouldn’t be a problem. And you’ll have to thank Aaron later; it’s actually his horse.”

  “I’ll write him an epic poem. Maybe a country song. A dirty limerick.”

  Laughter chased them out of the barn.

  Cole watched with a vague sense of helplessness as Nat saddled his horse. He was neither fast nor effective with one arm in a sling, and while he could have gotten it done sooner or later, she could do it quicker.

  It was still a little strange. Suddenly, he had an understanding of why his female reining friends complained about men helping them, that they could saddle their own horses. Still, he appreciated not having to strain his shoulder. Everything was connected to everything else, and any kind of lifting hurt. He’d be more than grateful when it had finally mended. His doctor had given him three to four weeks in a sling, followed by several months of care and physical therapy. It had been just a little over one week. It seemed three more couldn’t come fast enough.

  Then both horses were saddled—or in Jasmine’s case, groomed and bridled—and they headed out into the barnyard.

  “He just wears an easy tom thumb,” Aaron said, fluttering around his horse’s head anxiously. “He’s got a real sensitive mouth, so be gentle on it. Just a little light neck reining, no need to cowboy my horse—he’s really responsive.”

  “Got it.” Cole nodded, not bothering to try and stop the flood of words but hoping that an acknowledgement might calm them.

  “Now, if you’re gonna mount on the left make sure you dismount on the right to help the muscles stay balanced. Not everyone knows this, but—”

  “Always doing it on one side overdevelops those muscles. Oh, believe me, I know.”

  Aaron nodded vehemently and repeated that anyway, as if he couldn’t quite stop once he’d started.

  “Aaron?” Nat called from a few feet away, standing beside Jasmine’s head. “Would you rather we use a different horse?”

  That broke the man’s litany, and he paused for a moment, stroking the sorrel’s velvet nose. “No.” Then again, more firmly. “No. Taylor will enjoy this. He likes going out, and I haven’t had time.” He looked at Cole very steadily. “Just be good to him, and he’ll be good to you.”

  Cole nodded, then stepped up to the saddle, sliding his foot into the stirrup and grabbing the horn with his good hand. He stood, keeping as much weight in his legs as he could so as not to jostle his injured shoulder. Swinging his off leg over the animal’s strong hindquarters, he settled down carefully and found the other stirrup in one smooth motion. His torn rotator cuff twinged, but it was ignorable.

  Aaron watched the whole thing with keen eyes, and nodded approvingly when Cole was seated. He gave his horse one last pat, then stepped away. “Have fun, you guys.”

  “Thanks, Aaron. We will.” Nat turned to her horse, took a fistful of mane in each hand, and with one quick step and a leap she was in the air. She twisted, hips arcing upward over rump and spine, sliding into place as if she’d done it a million times before.

  She probably had.

  Cole smiled as he waggled his reins side to side in one hand, pleased to see the horse—Taylor—drop his head responsively. “I never managed to learn that leaping trick,” he said idly. “I was always too afraid of smashing…bits.”

  Nat laughed, clear and ringing as she adjusted the cell-phone pouch strapped to her leg, then picked up her reins and guided Jasmine forward with a simple shift of weight. “When I first started trying, Jasmine used to gallop off, sometimes bucking before I could catch my balance. We’ve come to an understanding, since. I slide rather than slam, and she doesn’t send me careening over her head.”

  He chuckled in response, easily able to imagine an annoyed mare letting her rider know in no uncertain terms that that wasn’t acceptable. He spent the next few minutes getting a better sense of Taylor as a riding horse, rather than on the ground. The creature was thoroughly relaxed, ambling along, his stride slightly shorter than Jasmine’s, but longer than Fleet’s. He didn’t have any problem taking more steps to catch up to the ex-jumper, though, and Jasmine walked slowly, ears flicking this way and that as if to make up for her lack of eyesight. She kept her head low to the ground, and Cole realized now that while she was relaxed, she was also doing what she could to make sure she didn’t run into anything. The fact that there was no hesitation in her step spoke volumes of the trust she had in her rider, and volumes about the kind of love, care and devotion Nat had shown her.

  Taylor was just as responsive as Aaron had sworn, edging away from the slightest shift in weight, speeding up or slowing down almost as soon as Cole thought of it. A horse who responded to body language, rather than needing reins or legs.

  “This horse is fantastic,” Cole said admiringly, pleased to be riding an animal he could enjoy.

  “Better than Fleet?”

  His gaze snapped up, appalled at the suggestion, and he realized as he saw blue green eyes that he was being teased. He smiled wryly. “Not better than Fleet. But significantly bett
er than most ranch horses.”

  “Aaron’s family raises and shows horses.” Nat leaned back, resting her weight on one hand against Jasmine’s dark hide. It moved her body up and down as the mare walked, a smooth cycle that made her look as if she were riding a carousel horse. “Taylor there is almost twenty-two, and was Aaron’s sister’s first show horse. He foundered pretty badly at one point, but Aaron brought him here and our farrier does amazing things with equines. It took a few years, but you can’t hardly tell it ever happened, now.”

  Cole reached down and patted Taylor, impressed with the story. “I suppose that explains the training, and Aaron’s mother hennishness.”

  That drew a laugh. “Yeah. Aaron’s a good guy.”

  Cole didn’t respond to that, since none was needed. The horses wandered past the barns and corrals, Taylor picking his head up briefly to peer into the darkness of the shed where the farm equipment was kept. The ranch was massive and sprawling, exercise pens and rehab equipment giving way to smaller corrals and those, in turn, giving way to large pastures filled with green grass. It was a striking contrast to the desert around them, like seeing a vein of jade in sandstone.

  Not that the desert could ever be called normal. As they rode out along the dirt road that surrounded the property, pasture lay on one side and desert on the other, jagged and starkly beautiful. Scrub brush prickled upward in rust colors, adorned with tiny red flowers. Cacti stretched tall and imposing, adding olive green trunks and bright yellow flowers to the scenery. Between the plants stretched sharp-edged rock and patches of granite, speckled with black and white and fool’s gold if one bothered to look closely enough. Dun-colored boulders rose like living sentinels, clustered here and there as if they stood together against the heat of the day and the cold of the night, watching over ground that was dangerously beautiful.

  “If you head out that way,” Nat said, rising to point one elegant, long-fingered hand toward a pile of large boulders, “you’ll find a coyote den. Round this time of year there’s usually two or three pups tumbling among the rocks. One year Beth and Shumway rode by so often that the pups grew tame, and started wandering into the ranch. We had to lock up the barn cats after a while, but they never bothered the mini.”

  “You don’t worry about hunting packs?” he asked, looking out toward the rocks as if he might see a moving shadow, spilling like liquid across the sand.

  “No. Young males might form packs of three or four, but that’s not very common. There’s enough wildlife out here that they remain solitary, and hunt mostly small animals—rabbits and things. Hunting packs are more dangerous in developed areas, where game is scarce and larger.”

  Cole nodded, gaze scanning the distant mountains. Eventually, he felt eyes on him and turned to see Nat looking at him the same way he’d been looking at the desert: thoughtfully, enjoying it.

  She smiled self-consciously and glanced away. “Most people look at the brush and the cactus and see only charred, water-starved plants and wicked thorns.”

  There was a question in her tone, unasked. He took a guess and answered. “I grew up in the desert. New Mexico, matter of fact. Not too different from here, though my current outfit is in California—which is also a desert. More like this one.” The inland of California and much of Arizona were close to the same environment, though he guessed that it would be hotter here in the dead of summer. In mid-spring, though, it was pleasant. The sun shone down, warming them so that he could start to feel the prickle of it on his skin, and knew that given enough time sweat would run down his back. It wasn’t yet a burning heat, as if God had aimed a microscope at them to watch them scurry inside, and a breeze played among them and their horses.

  Dotted around the pastures were oak trees and cottonwoods, resistant to drought and growing tall. They looked like they must have been there for decades, to get as big as they were.

  “Did you buy the land already planted?” He nodded toward the cluster of greenery, keen eyes picking out boulders around the trunks.

  Nat smiled at him wordlessly, and urged Jasmine forward. They rode in silence another few minutes before coming to a gate in the fence line. In a picture of partnership Jasmine came to a halt, took three sideways steps from a cue that even Cole didn’t quite see, and stood rock solid while Nat worked the latch on the gate. When it swung loose she kept one hand on the top rail, walking Jasmine sideways, forward and around—maneuvering the big body so that one hand always had a finger on the gate, opening it to let Cole through.

  He gave Taylor some rein and let the horse saunter forward, into the plush field. Even from horseback he could feel the sudden give in the ground, the difference between a decomposed granite road and the soft mulch and dirt that was under knee-high grass. A quick look down revealed growing hay of varying forms; timothy, oat hay, alfalfa sprinkled here and there. Taylor gave one quick attempt to snatch a bite, though Cole stopped it with a swift upward pop.

  The old horse decided another try wasn’t worth it, which told Cole more than anything else that Aaron didn’t let him eat, either.

  He watched as Nat edged Jasmine around the gate—still not letting it go—and side-stepped the mare to close it. She dropped her reins on her mount’s neck to lock the latch back up, feet flexing to keep her balance.

  It wasn’t easy to hold onto a gate while maneuvering your horse. People in trail showing had to learn, and ranch hands often learned a rough but effective version. That Jasmine and Nat could do it so seamlessly was both impressive and, somehow, unsurprising.

  She straightened, picked up her reins and nodded toward the tree and rock stand halfway across the wide-open pasture. Cole thought he might be able to fit his entire ranch in this single enclosure. At the far end was a group of horses. Heads rose from grazing, though at this distance he couldn’t make out much else.

  “I had no idea your place was so…” He paused, struggling for a word that encompassed what he was seeing.

  “Massive?” Nat suggested with a smile.

  “Yeah.” If he turned back he could still see the ranch, but it was much smaller, now.

  “We own roughly two hundred acres of land. About fifty of that is currently being used.”

  “Jesus.” He owned twenty acres, and had everything packed in, corrals on top of arenas.

  She laughed, slanting a glance at him with a seductive gaze. “Don’t worry. Bigger isn’t always better.”

  He gave her a sarcastic look, which didn’t stop her hilarity at all, and looked out at the small herd of horses. “What are they here for?”

  She watched as the animals slowly dropped their heads and went back to grazing. “More rescues that couldn’t be released. Animals that would be put down. Some of them are PMU babies.”

  Cole nodded, aware of the influx of horses since they began making human birth control from the hormones found in pregnant mare urine. The foals from those pregnancies had to go somewhere, and there weren’t enough homes.

  “We try and find people for the rescues, especially if they’re ridable, but there aren’t many who will take an unridable, permanently damaged horse as a pet.” She paused, guiding Jasmine over slightly uneven ground, then walking the last twenty feet to a decline that led toward the oak trees. From the road the downward pocket hadn’t been visible, but up close Cole could see the trees lay tucked in a depression, what looked like it might be a natural underground riverbed. The hay grew thicker along this line, bright green despite the midday heat.

  The oak and cottonwood grove was bigger than he’d initially thought, surrounded by rocks and following the winding line of the unseen water.

  “This was here when I bought the land. I think someone probably planted the trees long ago, because they don’t grow often in this area. Or maybe someone planted them nearby for a house, and the seeds blew in? But either way, it makes a good little island of shade for the horses.” Nat slid down off Jasmine, leading the mare into the grove before pulling her bridle off to let her graze in the shorter gras
s.

  Cole followed suit, swinging one-handed down off his mount and awkwardly tying a loose knot in the split reins. He looped them under the pommel of the saddle, then through the gullet and around the horn, making sure Taylor had enough rein to reach the short grass. “Will they wander off?”

  “I doubt it.” Nat’s eyes flicked up across the field. “Jasmine won’t. If Taylor does, I can use her to round him up. We’ll just have to watch that he doesn’t head out to eat the long hay.”

  Cole nodded. With a bit still in his mouth, getting hay caught around it and down his throat was a vague possibility. After a moment’s thought Cole led the horse between the boulders, down into the shade under the great oaks, and released him there. The boulders and trees made a natural pen, and the soft grass would hopefully keep Taylor from becoming too interested in leaving. He watched the gelding closely for a minute, finally relaxing when the animal headed toward Jasmine and together they began to graze.

  Only then did Cole take a good look at where Nat had brought them. The trees shaded the little glen, cutting the heat by half. Boulders climbed from the detritus of many seasons, stark and white against the green. Light filtered through, softened by the foliage but still casting them in full daylight. It was far from a forest, but compared to the surrounding desert, it was Eden.

  “This is amazing.” His voice fell quietly, careful not to drown out the hesitant bird song, the humming of bees nearby. He looked around for the hive, but didn’t spot it. He guessed it was high in one of the gnarled oaks.

  “The sprinklers help it along, of course. I’m sure it wouldn’t be nearly so green without them. But it’s pretty, isn’t it?” Nat smiled, looking up and around.

  Cole’s gaze landed on her. She was looking about as if seeing a treasured friend, gaze light with joy. The filtered sunshine poured over her, making sweat-damp skin glow, creating soft shadows in the curves of her body, the planes of her stomach. Her tank top was snug, outlining the heavy curve of her breasts and the long lines of muscle down her torso. Jeans hung low on her waist, a leather belt with a silver buckle accentuating the swell of her hips.